


It's Death That Makes Us Equals

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Instincts, Gen, Killing, Possession, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: He didn’t have a deep understanding of animals. The only bond with that incomprehensible realm were snakes, which he deemed too superior than other races to call them true beasts.





	It's Death That Makes Us Equals

He couldn’t say what had driven his choice.

Perhaps the darkness.

Perhaps the cold, or the desperation.

Perhaps the memory of the man dead in those lands years before, to gift him with yet another piece of immortality.

He had made his choice, and now his essence wandered that impenetrable layer of trees at the slope of Mount Gramoz.

There was something fascinating about Albania.

Perhaps the smell of death, stagnant, seeing the misery, the pain.

Everything seemed emphasised by the senses of the animal he was possessing, for that absurd necessity of having a body.

He wandered the forest, in the by no means recalcitrant body of a wolf. He saw, far, the lights of the village of Dardha, a glimpse faint and alluring, which almost seemed to attract him to it.

The animal was hungry, he could feel it.

He would’ve laughed, hadn’t instinct blinded him, hadn’t the features of the beast denied that to him.

He had an almost complete control over it, and yet he couldn’t stop those impulses, so much that he started wondering if they weren’t actually his own.

He didn’t have a deep understanding of animals. The only bond with that incomprehensible realm were snakes, which he deemed too superior than other races to call them true beasts.

He thought, with a sort of nostalgia, to the Basilisk locked up inside the Chamber of Secrets. He thought about the power it once had, and he was the best show of it. He thought about the lifeless body of that girl inside the bathrooms at Hogwarts, and was pervaded by a kind of... _excitement._

The Basilisk killed with its loo, it was majestic and lethal.

And it had been in his power, until he had had a body.

Now he was relegated in that region forgotten by civil men, at the mercy of the lowest instincts, for reasons he couldn’t truly understand.

And he didn’t like not understanding.

All of a sudden, he froze.

The wolf, or perhaps him, had felt something. A smell, a draft, a trace he knew all too well.

It was the smell of fear.

He started running, tireless, following that perfume almost intoxicating; and getting closer, it was enhanced by the smell of blood. Fresh, young.

Then he saw him. A kid, on the ground. He held his ankle, he cried.

His smell was almost _touchable._

The horror on his face when he saw the animal made him feel powerful as he never did. He didn’t ascribe that fear to the looks of the wolf, but to the essence harbouring in him. For the first time since he had been forced to that half-life, he felt himself again, once more master of his actions.

There was just a moment of uncertainty, an impasse, between the will of the wolf to run and his own. The will to kill, to show he could still be feared, even if just from a little kid in the middle of a forest in Albania.

He concentrated, and it was like any doubt melted. He got closed, seeing his eyes becoming wider to each stealthy step, noiseless over the damp ground.

“Mo... mos më lëndoni.” he whispered, among tears. _Don’t hurt me._ Again, the insane desire to smile pervaded him.

He was an animal, and an animal plays with its food before consuming it.

When he was close enough, he laid the snout on his shoulder, as if being protective. He read the gratitude on the barely adolescent face, he saw the tears fading into uncertain smiles.

Smiles, which faded in a surge of sudden suspect when the animal opened its jaws. Imperceptibly, and yet that instinct of self-preservation living in any human being gave him the alarm.

From gratitude, to suspect, to certainty. And he didn’t have time to scream.

His throat tore with a deaf sound under the sharp canines of the wolf. He collapsed on the ground, his eyes still open.

Voldemort stayed still, staring at him.

For some absurd joke, that face petrified in death reminded him once more of that dead girl at Hogwarts.

The Basilisk like him, in that moment. The snakes, peculiar beings, superior. And yet, every animal becomes like all the others when it kills.

Man, too.

He denied fullness to the wolf, forcing him to go far from that flesh that it desired.

He wasn’t going to get any dirtier than necessary. It had been enough to take that life, for sure useless, to leave his mark on those lands.

He left, slowly. Pervaded of a sensation of pure bliss, as returning to the origins of his power, to the birth of that fame that he had feared extinct, but that was only asleep.

Death had come back visiting that place, bearing with it the mark of Lord Voldemort.

Bodiless, but still alive.


End file.
